


How to Date Your Lawyer

by mithrildreams



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Developing Relationship, Emotionally Constipated Thorin, Fluff, M/M, Miscommunication, Oblivious Bilbo, Pre-Relationship, Thorin Is an Idiot, Thorin Oakenshield Is a Dork, Thorin is his client, Uncle Thorin, lawyer!Bilbo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-24 00:26:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10730403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mithrildreams/pseuds/mithrildreams
Summary: “Hello?” Bilbo answered cautiously. “Thorin?”“Hello, Bilbo,” came Thorin’s rich voice. The deep, rough tone never failed to send a chill down Bilbo’s spine. “Are you busy?”“I’m just having dinner …” Bilbo replied, hoping that he would not have to abandon his meal, as he had so many times previously.  “Are you in trouble?”“No.”“About to be in trouble?”“No.”“Done something for which you should be in trouble?”“No.”In which Thorin fails at asking out his lawyer.





	How to Date Your Lawyer

**Author's Note:**

> Although I've been reading bagginshield fanfic for a while, this is my first fic! (Hopefully of many to come.)
> 
> Thanks so my amazing, fantabulous, mind-blowing beta (and daughter) [airebellah](http://airebellah.tumblr.com), who I have to thank for introducing me to this amazing fandom (and who is definitely not responsible for writing this author's note).
> 
> Inspired by [this tumblr post.](https://iminbagginshieldhell.tumblr.com/post/124072350147/onelassieandherfandoms-michaelfaasbender)

At 7.30 pm, Bilbo was just sitting down to a well-deserved meal. He had changed out of his stuffy suit for the day, and was feeling quite relaxed in well-worn corduroys and a cotton shirt.

Dinner was grilled trout with roasted veggies on the side, and a green salad. Sometimes he thought it was a shame to cook only for himself, but he had been doing so for many years now, and things were hardly going to change. After all, he could not picture himself with a partner at all. Well … sometimes he could picture a  _ certain someone, _ but that was a hopeless fantasy.

The hopelessness of it all did not stop Bilbo from sometimes (occasionally) indulging in his thoughts. Even now, his delicious food was forgotten as he found himself musing pleasantly on his fantasy hero. Perhaps hero was a strong word, but he could dream. Bilbo nearly leapt from his seat when his phone rang. As he glanced down at the screen, his cheeks heated in shame.  _ Speak of the devil …  _ The call display showed “Thorin cell.” Bilbo was surprised to receive a call from the man’s cell phone. Thorin usually called Bilbo from the police station, rushing to explain his situation on the one call he was given. Perhaps he was in imminent danger of arrest?

“Hello?” Bilbo answered cautiously, after swallowing the first bite of trout. “Thorin?”

“Hello, Bilbo,” came Thorin’s rich voice. No phone could ever make him sound tinny. The deep, rough tone never failed to send a chill down Bilbo’s spine. “Are you busy?”

“I’m just having dinner …” Bilbo replied, hoping that he would not have to abandon his meal, as he had so many times previously.

“Ah,” Thorin breathed. There was a long pause before he said, “I haven’t had dinner yet.”

Puzzled by this non-sequitur, Bilbo prompted, “Are you in trouble?”

“No.”

“About to be in trouble?”

“No.”

“Done something for which you should be in trouble?”

“No.” Thorin’s voice was laconic, almost relaxed, though his answers were growing clipped as he undoubtedly began to lost patience. 

Bilbo scratched his head, at a complete loss. “Do you need my counsel for something?”

“No ...“ Thorin trailed off, sound strangely uncertain. “I was just wondering …”

“Yes?” prompted Bilbo again.

“... if you’d had dinner,” he finished lamely.

“I’m just eating now,” Bilbo repeated slowly, feeling his own patience wear thin. He pushed some potatoes around on his plate. “You’re sure you’re not in trouble?”

“No.” Thorin paused briefly. “Yes?” He chuckled, and then elaborated, “Yes, I’m sure I’m not in trouble. I… I’d better let you get back to your dinner.”

“Thank you,” Bilbo said politely. “I’ll say goodnight, then.”

“Good night, Bilbo.”

“That was strange,” Bilbo said aloud, after they hung up. “I wonder what’s up with him.” However, it was more important to finish his dinner while it was still warm; Thorin appeared to be in no immediate trouble, after all. Bilbo put Thorin’s odd behaviour out of his mind as he focused on his delicious, albeit lonely,  meal.

 

*******

Thorin dropped his mobile phone on the empty passenger seat, harshly flicking his wrist as he  started the ignition. Thank Mahal he had phoned, instead of just marching up to Bilbo’s  door and knocking like he had been tempted to do. He stared at that familiar green door, just outside his car window. Within reach... unlike Bilbo. Calling had been embarrassing enough; knocking on the door would have been utterly humiliating. Even worse than waking Bilbo up at 3 in the morning because Dwalin had convinced him - yet again - to go pub hopping. There was the one time he had spent the entire night in the drunk tank with clothes that were soaked with ale, his hair matted with the stickiness.  _ It was all Dwalin’s fault,  _ Thorin had tried to convince his lawyer when Bilbo had appeared. Bilbo had taken one look at him and walked away, his bubbly laughter filling the cell block.

Humiliating as that had been, the memory brought a smile to Thorin’s face. He enjoyed making Bilbo laugh, even at his own expense. And Bilbo was a damn good lawyer, a force to be reckoned with. The only advice he had refused to take during their lengthy, complicated acquaintance was to stop spending time with his raucous cousin. Not that Bilbo was wrong, but family was family. Besides, Bilbo always made sure any charges were dropped in no time at all. With a resigned sigh, Thorin quietly drove away from Bilbo’s house. For a moment he wished he could be completely invisible, before remembering with great relief that Bilbo would not be able to see him; the dining room was at the back of the house. “Thank Mahal for his small mercies,” he muttered.

He debated simply going home and texting Fíli and Kíli, who he knew were eagerly awaiting his news. But what good would that do? None at all. With a heavy sigh, he instead made the trip to Dís’ house. When Kíli answered the door, he took one look at his uncle’s face before ushering Thorin into the living room.

“What happened?” he asked, looking concerned. “Don’t tell me that my plan failed? You had one job - to go over and ask him on a date!”

Thorin shook his head, sinking into his favourite armchair. “I really need a drink, Kíli.”

“When you’ve told me the story,” Kíli said firmly.

“A drink, and then I’ll tell you,” replied Thorin. He looked into Kíli’s anxious and hopeful face. “Please.”

Kíli only looked more resolute. “Story first.”

Thorin ran an aggravated hand through his hair. “Who raised you to be so impertinent?” he growled. “And inhospitable,” he added.

Kíli sat comfortably opposite his uncle, and smiled.

“I really need …” Thorin began again.

“A date.” Kíli interrupted with conviction. “You really need a date with Bilbo.” He nodded wisely. “You’re desperate.”

Thorin groaned.

“Should I get arrested again?” Kíli offered. “I can easily throw paint on someone’s fur coat, or block a laboratory, or start an angry protest …”

“NO!” Thorin shouted. There was no question where Kíli got his spirit from. “Please don’t get arrested. Please.” His mind reeled at the endless possibilities for a hot-headed youth. “And you weren’t arrested, that time,” he mumbled.

“Just tell me what happened,” Kíli said patiently. “You called him …”

“I called him …” Thorin began slowly. “I was going to ask him for dinner …”

“That’s a good start,” Kíli said approvingly.

“But he was eating already,” Thorin said gloomily. “And then I had nothing else to say, so that was it.”

Kíli leaned forward, and touched Thorin’s knee consolingly. “Uncle Thorin, you need help.”

Trust a teenager to state the obvious. Kíli left to grab his uncle a drink. Thorin leaned back in the chair, and ran his hand through his hair again. It still didn’t help, but it felt good, and Kíli wouldn’t judge him for mussed hair. No, Thorin’s social deficits held more than enough ammunition. After all, there was no chance of him seeing Bilbo tonight. Then again... Bilbo had seen him under much worse circumstances … And that had Thorin wanting to rip his hair out. Thorin could hear Kíli’s voice in the kitchen, but he was too engrossed in his problem to wonder who his nephew could be talking to. Much more important was deciding what he going to do next.

Kíli came back with two glasses of Coke, looking thoughtful. “I called Fíli, but he’s on a  _ date _ ” - he put completely unnecessary emphasis on the word, as if Thorin needed the reminder that his twenty-year-old  _ nephew _ could do what he couldn’t - “and doesn’t want to be interrupted.”

Thorin took a sip from his glass, and scowled when he tasted only pop. “You gave me the wrong one,” he accused, eyeing Kíli’s drink. “This is just Coke.”

“Are you driving?” countered Kíli. “If so, then that’s all you’re getting.”

Thorin contemplated an argument about being a responsible drinker, but decided against it.

“Practice what you preach,” Kíli said smugly, reading his uncle’s expression.

“One day …” began Thorin threateningly.

“Whatever.” Kíli interrupted cheekily, calling out his uncle’s bluff. “Now, what do you need a lawyer for? You’ve been arrested, that didn’t work. Maybe you should write your will?”

“Write my will?” Thorin repeated blankly.

“Yes. You’d be sitting down with Bilbo, all cozy. No police officers, no charges pending. No drunks listening in to your phone call.” Kíli was clearly remembering every cop show trope he could think of.

“I have a will.” Thorin said, before Kíli could continue.

“You do?”

“Yes, of course.”

Kíli considered this fact for nanoseconds. “Does Bilbo  _ know _ you have a will?”

 

*******

“Bilbo.”

“Yes, Thorin.”

“I … uh …” Thorin’s voice was uncharacteristically uncertain, and Bilbo wished that he could see the other man, to read his expression. “I need to write my will.”

“You don’t have a will??” Bilbo almost exploded down the phone line. “How can YOU not have a will?”

“I have a will,” Thorin answered defensively.

“You have a will?” Bilbo repeated, still sounding angry. 

“Yes, of course.”

“Of course, you should have one, as reckless as you are.” Bilbo continued, “if anything happened to you …” Bilbo’s voice tailed off. It was quite  _ unprofessional _ to speak to a client in that tone. Nevermind that the idea of anything happening to that client was  … unthinkable. Painfully unthinkable. Unendurable. Impossible.

“Dís and the boys will be taken care of,” Thorin continued reassuringly.

“If anyone needs - ahem!” Bilbo firmly shut down that train of thought. “So if you have a will already …”

“Yes,” said Thorin, still sounding like he was trying to reassure Bilbo. “Yes, I do.”

“Then you don’t need to me to help you write one,” Bilbo concluded.

“Ah.” Thorin cleared his throat. “Yes.”  _ Cough.  _ “I need your help.”

“But you have a will.” Bilbo repeated, a small part of him still needing reassurance.

“Yes.”  _ Cough. Pause.  _ But I need to … I have to … I want to … make .. “

“Changes?” Bilbo prompted.  _ Unprofessional! Leading the witness, Your Honour!  _ Bilbo shook his head. It was unlike Thorin to be so vague. He should give Thorin a chance to explain himself. 

“Yes.” Thorin cleared his throat again. Was he sickening for something? “Can we meet for lunch? Or dinner?”

“Thorin,” Bilbo began slowly, “You don’t want to discuss your will  _ in public. _ ” He tried to picture them sitting across from each other, plates of food pushed aside as they discussed Thorin’s (rather sizable) estate.  _ And is there a significant other to whom all your belongings shall go? No? Maybe I can do something about that… _

Oh, Yavanna. He had it bad. That wouldn’t do at all. “Let’s make an appointment,” he said. “Is 2 pm Tuesday suitable?”

“Yes,” Thorin muttered after a moment. Why did Thorin sound so … chastened? He had been arrested any number of times, but he’d never, ever sounded chastened. (In fact, quite the opposite.) He must be coming down with something. As Bilbo considered some of his mother’s favourite remedies he could perhaps offer his client - in a professional manner, of course - he had a less-than professional vision of himself soothing a fevered Thorin. A shirtless fevered Thorin.

“Ahem.” He found himself needing to clear his own throat. “Please fax me a copy of your current will, and I’ll see you on Tuesday.”

“Right.”

 

***

The phone rang, and Fíli reached for his mobile. But it wasn’t ringing. He looked at it in mild confusion before picking up the landline. “Hello?” he greeted cautiously.

“Fíli?” came his uncle’s voice. “Is Kíli home?”

“I am very well, thank you.” Fíli replied politely. “How are you?”

“I’m fine.” Thorin snapped. Then he sighed. “I’m not fine. I need help. Is Kíli home?”

“If you wanted Kíli, why did you call the house phone?” Fíli asked.

“Fíli…” Thorin groaned. It was his I’m-about-to-lose-my-shit groan.

“Kíli is out …”  _ on a date with that gorgeous redhead,  _ Fíli thought. But he didn’t want to rub it in to his hopeless uncle, “... at the movies. Lucky for you, you do have another nephew! Can I help?”

Thorin sighed heavily. “I suppose you know …”

“Yes,” Fíli said with a rueful grin. “I know.” Another heavy sigh from his uncle, who really should be glad that Dís hadn’t answered the phone. 

“I need help.” Thorin admitted.

Fíli’s plan of a long and complicated contract, really intended to simply force Bilbo and Thorin to spend time together (outside of jail) gave Thorin renewed hope. But he soon discovered that contract law was not something Bilbo could help him with.

“I can recommend someone,” Bilbo suggested. “I know several lawyers who specialize in contract law.”

“No, that’s fine.” Thorin said dispiritedly. “Never mind.” He hung up the phone on yet another useless phone call to his lawyer, and contemplated the ruin that was his life. When he had finished dwelling on everything that had gone wrong, he even considered calling his younger brother. But the only thing worse than getting Fíli and Kíli’s advice was getting  _ Frerin’s, _ and he would never hear the end of it.

 

***

Dís had long held the belief that a good sister did not interfere in her brothers’ love lives. But after an appeal from both her sons, she decided to act. Frerin rarely needed help or advice, but Thorin was a different story entirely. Without her assistance, he would be pining after Bilbo forever, and that would be awful. It only took two brief phone calls to put her plan into place, and with any luck, Thorin would never find out that she had orchestrated the whole thing. Bilbo was very willing to play along; as it turned out, only professional scruples had been holding him back.

 

***

“Thorin?” Uncertainty made his voice squeaky and unmistakably nervous over the phone, thankfully contributing to his ruse.

“Bilbo?”

“Yes.” Bilbo took a deep breath. “I’ve … I’ve been arrested, and I need you to bail me out.” He prayed that Thorin’s sister was serious, and that this was going to be  _ a life-changing moment  _ for them both _. _ Please, Eru, don’t let this be a practical joke!

“You’ve WHAT?” Thorin roared. “Don’t say anything! I’ll be right there.” An audible breath. “Where? Are you alright? I’m coming. Are you hurt?? I’ll be right there. Hang on.”

Bilbo handed the phone to his good friend Detective Gray. So Dís was not joking … not at all. This was going to be very good.

“Gandalf, you’ve arrested me,” he said slowly, mentally contemplating his imminent rescue. “But … oh! … for what?”

“Public indecency, of course.” Gandalf pronounced calmly, winking.

 

**THE END**


End file.
